


Watercolor Darlings

by winter_soldierr



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Multi, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 22:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6059989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_soldierr/pseuds/winter_soldierr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(I'm just going to apologize for that title. It sounds so Fake Deep. I'm sorry.)</p>
<p>Steve Rogers never thought much about James Barnes.</p>
<p>That is, until Barnes hit him in the face with a dodgeball.</p>
<p>Now Steve is noticing him quite a lot. At first, it seemed like mere coincidence, but Steve isn't so sure anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Steve was always picked last for dodgeball.

It was embarrassing enough to be a senior in the freshman gym class. He really didn’t need the added shame of being so much scrawnier than the younger kids that they wouldn’t even pick him for their team. And on top of that, it was doubly embarrassing that the coach had to put him on a team.

Steve fidgeted with the hem of his shirt and glanced at the freshman standing next to him. The boy was a whole head taller than Steve and actually had some signs of muscles on his arms. Steve felt a blush creeping across his face and he turned away, shifting his feet to run when Coach Fury blew the whistle.

Across the gym, metal clanged against metal as the other senior boys spent their gym period in the workout room. The noise lingered in Steve’s ears and he gritted his teeth. He could see them through the doorway- dressed in ripped tank tops or completely shirtless, laughing and high-fiving each other.

“Rogers!” Fury yelled. “Get moving, son!”

Steve snapped out of his daze and realized the other kids were running around him, grabbing dodgeballs and hurling them at each other. Getting hit was almost unavoidable now but Steve still dove into the thick of the action, scooping up a red rubber dodgeball and throwing it across the gym. Or trying to, anyways. The ball landed in an empty space, a few feet in front of Steve.

He couldn’t throw worth shit.

Then one of the heavy dodgeballs slammed against the side of his face.

Steve fell in the most ungraceful way possible. Arms pinwheeling. Mouth gaping. He crashed to the floor and stayed there for a moment, staring up at the bright gym lights.

Coach Fury blasted the whistle. The boys stopped, many of them mid-throw, and Steve sat up groggily. “Who did it?” Fury demanded. “We have very clear rules in this game: _no aiming for the face_.”

Steve’s classmates shuffled awkwardly and glanced around at each other. Steve watched them, then found his eyes drifting back to the workout room.

A boy lounged in the doorway, resting his shoulder against the brick wall. He wore a black tank top and matching gym shorts. His arms were crossed but a small smirk played across his lips. And he was staring directly back at Steve.

Steve knew the boy, of course. Everyone knew Barnes. Smart, athletic Barnes. Steve couldn’t remember saying more than three words to the guy, which were _“here’s my e-mail”_ when they were stuck together for an assignment in their Advanced English class. Barnes hadn’t replied. He simply took the paper Steve offered him and the rest of their assignment had been completed via short, uncomfortable e-mails. Coach Fury noticed where Steve was staring and turned to face the workout room as well. He sighed as he saw Barnes and motioned him over.

“My office, now,” Fury said. “ _Now_ , Barnes.”

The boy trotted over, seemingly unbothered at having been caught. But Steve could swear he saw Barnes wink at him before disappearing into Fury’s office.


	2. Chapter 2

The locker room was always hot and stuffy, but the steam and sweat after class made it so much worse. Steve found his secluded corner and quickly twisted the combination for his locker. He bundled his clothes under his arm, snatched his shower bag, and bolted for the nearest stall.

Steve shimmied out of his clothes and cranked on the water. The water pressure sucked and Steve reached up to adjust the showerhead, hoping it would fix the problem. No such luck. Steve relented to his fate of a cold, pathetic shower and stood underneath the sputtering spray.

Why had Barnes hit him? Was it just a joke, a chance to show off? 

Steve wouldn’t be surprised. He was boney and small, an easy target. He’d been the target of the neighborhood bullies for as long as he could remember. But he’d earned a reputation as a scrappy fighter, one who wouldn’t go down easy. Sure, his punches lacked accuracy and he didn’t have a lot of power in each hit, but he’d be damned if he rolled over and played dead. 

One thing still bothered him though. Why did Barnes wink? Was it just another way to mess with Steve or was it a sign of a prank, an attempt to show Steve that Barnes held no ill feelings? That the hit had all been in jest?

Steve scrubbed shampoo through his clean-cut blond hair and listened to the conversations in the locker room. Doors slammed, showers started. He heard a few boys debating who to ask as a date to the upcoming Winter Formal (which Steve had zero plans of attending) and others scheduling when to meet for dinner before Friday’s football game (which Steve would also not be attending).

“How awesome was that?” he heard a voice say. “Barnes has good aim.”

Several other voices joined in as the speaker laughed. Steve felt his ears burn bright red and he clenched his fists, digging his short nails into his palm. He took a deep breath and counted to ten. What had the school counselor said?

_ Think of three things that make you happy. _

“C’mon, it’s not like Rogers is much of a threat though,” a different voice spoke up. “Barnes wasn’t exactly risking anything. That kid’s a shrimp.”

“Sure, but have you  _ seen _ Rogers try to fight someone? He flails around and scratches ‘em up like a cat,” a third voice added.

_ Three things that make you happy. One, painting.  _

Steve wiped suds from his face and wrung out his hair.

_ Two, my cat. _

“Hey, why don’t you guys screw off?” A fourth voice, one that Steve recognized. Clint Barton, who was obsessed with magic tricks and could shoot a bullseye blindfolded. 

Slowly, the voices died down. Steve shut off the shower, toweled off, and dressed quickly. Outside, the bell rang for class change. Steve pulled open the stall door and retrieved his knapsack from his locker. 

Clint was stretched out on one of the benches, leaning back on his elbows with his ankles crossed.

“How’s it going, Steve?” Clint asked, cocking his head to one side. 

Steve finished packing away his things before he turned to his friend. “I’ve been better.”

“Shit, man, I’ll say,” Clint replied. “Have you checked your face? Barnes really pegged you, didn’t he?”

“It’s not  _ that _ bad,” Steve retorted. 

“Sorry, you’re gonna need to say that a little slower,” Clint said. “I didn’t get all of that.”

“I said,” Steve repeated, “it’s not that bad.”

“Gotcha,” Clint nodded. 

Clint had never really explained it in detail, but Steve knew his friend was deaf in one ear. A childhood accident that Clint never wanted to talk about. There were whispers, of course, but all Steve knew was one day he and Clint were riding bikes down the neighborhood sidewalk and the next, Clint was in the hospital. 

When Clint came home, Steve didn’t pressure him to talk about what happened. And he didn’t argue when Clint started staying over more often on the weekends. When, or rather if, Clint decided he wanted to talk about it, Steve would be there for him. But for now, Steve kept his suspicions to himself and let his friend have his secrets.

Clint jumped to his feet and slung his backpack over one shoulder. “We should get going or there’s not going to be any good food left for us.”

“The food is never good, Clint,” Steve replied. “We’re just lucky if it’s  _ warm. _ ”

Clint barked a laugh and threw his arm over Steve’s shoulder. Steve risked a glance in the mirror as they left the locker room. The side of his face was imprinted with the cross-hatch pattern on the dodgeball and, while it was pinkish, did not appear swollen. 

The cafeteria reeked of old barbeque and bland french fries. Steve followed Clint through the line and then outside to the courtyard. A low concrete wall partially enclosed the area in a semi-circle. Clint gripped his tray in one hand and pulled himself up with the other. Steve scaled the wall like a rock-climber (a very out-of-shape rock-climber with little upper body strength) and panted as he sat next to Clint.

They dangled their feet over the side and Steve unpacked his lunch as Clint prodded at the food on his tray with a plastic fork.

“Every year my doubt grows that any of this is actually real food,” Clint observed.

“Don’t worry, I packed extra,” Steve said, handing over a peanutbutter sandwich and an apple to his friend. Clint accepted and pulled back the wrapping on the sandwich before taking a big bite. Steve mimicked his actions before he asked, “So how are things with you, Clint?”

“I’m okay, Steve,” Clint answered, kicking his heels against the concrete. “Haven’t heard from Barney in about a month but Mom’s doing fine. She finally got over that case of strep throat she had, you know, so we’re doing okay.”

Steve examined the profile of Clint’s face as he spoke, the hard line of his jaw, the gentle slope of his nose. His forehead crinkled in concentration when he thought Steve wasn’t looking and the corners of his mouth drooped down more often lately than they used to. Smile lines framed Clint’s eyes, an artifact from happier times. 

Clint turned to Steve. “And you?”

“Alright as well,” Steve said. “Asthma hasn’t been as bad recently, so that’s nice, but I have to go back to the allergist for more tests. Mom has been really paranoid since I had a reaction to asparagus last week.”

Clint laughed again and gave Steve a lopsided grin. “You’re a mess, you know that?” 

“I’m well aware, Barton,” Steve replied and took a bite out of his apple. 

Clint arched his arm and tossed his apple core across the courtyard. It hit the pavement and broke apart. Steve spit out a seed and followed suit. The core dropped to the pavement beneath their feet and splattered.

Clint clapped Steve on the back and hopped down. Steve handed down his backpack before climbing down the wall. 

“You’re a good friend, you know that right, Steve?” Clint asked, staring up at the clouds.

“I hope so, Clint,” he answered.

The bell blared once more, signaling the end of their lunch time. 

As they shouldered their way through the crowds, Clint elbowed Steve. “So did Barnes talk to you or not?”

“You mean apologize to me?” Steve asked. “No.”

“Naw, I mean-” Clint started. “I just heard- this is word-of-mouth by Nat, mind you-”

“Heard what, Clint?” Steve almost demanded. 

Clint shook his head. “You know what? Don’t worry about it. Barnes didn’t talk to you. I don’t know what it means or not. Probably he was just going to ask for help in Chemistry.”

“Barnes is smart enough without my help,” Steve retorted. “What do you know, Clint?”

Clint held up his hands. “I don’t know anything, Steve, I swear. Scout’s honor!”

“You were never even a Boy Scout!” 

“I know!” Clint began to skip away from him. “Meet me at Carter’s Drug Store after school, alright?”

“Fine,” Steve called. “But you owe me some answers!”

Clint vanished in the crowd, headed towards his calculus class. Steve hustled up the stairs to Chemistry, wondering what the hell Clint was on about and if Barnes would even be there.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve felt a strange disappointment to see Barnes’s chair was empty at the start of class. Steve’s eyes frequently wandered over to the chair throughout class as he furiously scribbled notes about chemical bonds.

The remainder of the day passed in a slow blur. When the final bell rang at last, Steve bolted from the building and hurried down the sidewalk, hoping he could dodge Rumlow. The guy was an absolute ass and loved to follow Steve home, puffing cigarette smoke everywhere. It was pretty much guaranteed to give Steve a horrendous asthma attack while Rumlow stood there and laughed.

“Where you going, Rogers?” a voice spat out.

_ Shit. _ Steve picked up his pace but a large hand gripped his shoulder roughly and spun him around. Brock Rumlow loomed over him, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. His hair was buzzed short on the sides and swept up on top with what must’ve been a whole container of gel. The strands looked frozen, Steve observed. 

“I said, where you going?” Rumlow repeated. “Weren’t trying to dodge me, were you?”

Brock took a long drag on the cigarette and blew the smoke out in a wide cloud. Steve held his breath as it passed over him. 

“What do you care, Brock?” Steve replied. 

Brock shoved him back and sneered. “Cause it’s so much fun to screw around with you, Rogers. It’s so easy too.”

He flicked away his cigarette and crushed it underneath his heavy black boots. Steve really didn’t want to go to Carter’s Drug Store with a black eye, but it looked like he didn’t have much of a choice. Rumlow was squaring up his shoulders to fight. Steve raised his fists, determined to do what he could to defend himself.

Then a finger tapped Rumlow’s shoulder and a polite voice interjected, “Hey, asshole.”

Brock turned and Clint Barton punched him across the jaw. Brock stumbled from the sidewalk into the ditch and gripped his face, swearing. 

“Let’s go, Steve,” Clint said and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. 

“Get back here and finish fighting me!” Rumlow yelled.

He started to give chase. Clint reached back and promptly held up his middle finger. Steve laughed as they cut around a corner and dove down a side street. Brock’s footsteps faded as they scrambled through the back path to Carter’s Drug Store. 

By the time they made it to the side door, Steve was winded and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He doubled over and rested his hands against his knees. Clint patted his back and asked if he was okay. Steve nodded. 

Clint tugged open the door and they slid in. The kitchen smelled of cheeseburgers and fried pickles. Steve’s mouth began to water and they hurried to the door that connected the kitchen to the dining area. 

“What are you boys doing back here?”

Steve and Clint froze. They turned back to see Aunt Peggy with her hands on her hips, frowning at them.

“You know I love all you kids, but my one rule is to stay out of the kitchen!” she scolded.

Peggy wasn’t actually related to any of them except for her niece, Sharon. But Peggy was the kind of woman that took it upon herself to take care of others and all the kids who frequented her diner had taken to calling her “aunt.” She had moved to America from England at a young age and opened Carter’s Drug Store. Part pharmacy, part diner, the store was the favored hangout of many high schoolers. 

“We’re sorry, Aunt Peg,” Clint said. “We had to lose Brock Rumlow.”

Peggy’s expression softened. “Alright. In that case, I’ll let it go this time. But the next time he gives you trouble, come get me. I’ll kick his ass for you.”

“Thanks, Aunt Peggy,” Steve replied. 

Peggy motioned to the diner bar. “Now get out there. Sharon will around to take your orders in a minute. And Clint, your girlfriend was starting to get worried so I would hurry out there.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Clint saluted her and the two boys hurried out.

Natasha Romanov was perched on a diner stool with her elbows against the shiny chrome counter of the diner bar. Her silky red hair reflected the fluorescent lights that hung from the ceiling. She was dressed in her usual black attire and her lips, turned down in a frown, were coated in a matte red lipstick.

She raised an eyebrow as Clint approached. “And where have you been? Getting into trouble?”

Clint blushed and wrapped his arms around her. “Yeah, but I’ll call you next time. I could’ve used some back-up.”

Natasha leaned back to look him in the eyes. “You mean you still haven’t taught Steve how to throw a proper punch?”

Clint chuckled and pulled her close again, burying his face in her hair. Natasha wrapped her fingers in the back of his shirt and nestled her head against his chest.

“But for real, call me next time. I’ll happily beat up anyone for you, Clint Barton,” she said.

Natasha Romanov had a really strange way of saying  _ I love you _ , Steve mused. 

The couple broke apart and Clint took the seat next to Natasha. Steve sat on the other side of him and dropped his backpack on the floor. 

“I went ahead and ordered the usual for you guys,” Natasha said. “Three milkshakes, two baskets of fried pickles, and a plate of cheesy fries for me because I’m not a heathen.”

“Hey, those pickles are delicious!” Clint protested.

Natasha smirked. “Only certain foods should ever be fried, Barton. Pickles are not one of them.”

Clint rolled his eyes and linked his fingers through hers. They made idle chitchat while they waited for their food. Sharon came by with her hair pulled back in a bright blonde ponytail and delivered their milkshakes. 

“Hi, Steve. How are you?” she smiled.

“I’m alright, Sharon. Yourself?” Steve replied.

“Busy, as usual. College, work, the same old stuff,” Sharon said. “I’ll be right back with the food.”

The trio was silent for a few seconds before Natasha spoke up. “She’s cute, don’t you think, Steve?"

Steve blushed bright red and drank from his chocolate milkshake to hide his face. 

“Oh, leave him alone,” Clint replied. “We both know Steve doesn’t get crushes on anyone ever.”

“That’s not true!” Steve exclaimed. “What about Tony, during sophomore year?”

Clint snorted. “Yeah, you and everyone else.”

“Besides,” Steve went on, ignoring him. “Peggy said Sharon met someone at college. Bobby, I think?”

“I was just messing around with you,” Natasha said. “Also, it’s Bobbi with an  _ i _ , Steve.”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t see how the spelling matters, but okay, Nat.”

Sharon returned and set out three baskets across the bar. 

“How’s Bobbi?” Natasha asked sweetly.

Sharon broke into a giant grin. “She’s good. I’m surprised you remembered!”

Steve nibbled on the fried pickles while Nat and Sharon chatted. Eventually, another customer waved her hand to get Sharon’s attention and the girl politely excused herself.

“So, Clint,” Steve said quickly, before another topic could be brought up. “What did Barnes want with me?”

Natasha narrowed her eyes and she swatted Clint on the arm. “You  _ told  _ him?”

Clint raised his hands placatingly. “I didn’t! I stopped before I let it slip, okay? I only  _ almost _ told him.”

Steve swallowed the last of his milkshake and leaned forward to better see his friends. “What do you guys know?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

Natasha shot Clint a look that clearly said,  _ let me handle this _ . She leaned over Clint to get closer to Steve. “So Barnes hasn’t talked to you yet?”

Steve shook his head.

“Alright,” she said. “Here’s what you need to know. Barnes needs your help. He wants to ask someone to the Winter Formal- he wouldn’t tell me who, so don’t bother asking- and he needs your artistic abilities. Apparently his crush is really into watercolor paintings? And, well, Steve, everyone has seen your paintings hanging outside the art room. You’re the best man for the job.”

“That’s it?” Steve replied. His chest deflated a little but he gave Natasha a smile. “Why were you guys acting so weird about it?”

Natasha leaned back and shrugged. “Barnes wants to keep it quiet. He wants it to be a real surprise, so only we know. Well, only I knew at first- he and I both take that kickboxing course, you know, so we’re kind of friends- but he gave me the all-clear to let Clint in on it.”

“Alright,” Steve said. “I guess that makes sense. I’ll ask him about it tomorrow then.”

Natasha reached around Clint to pat Steve’s back. “Good plan, Steve. Speaking of tomorrow, I have a monologue to memorize for theatre so are we going to rehearse this afternoon or not, Barton?”

Clint gave her a peck on the head before rummaging through his backpack to find his wallet. He set out a twenty, enough to cover all their food with a tip.

“I would’ve paid for mine,” Steve said.

“I know, man, but you’ve had a day. This one’s on me,” Clint replied, giving Steve a quick hug. “We’ll see you around tomorrow.”

The walk home was lonely, but Steve didn’t mind. Steve hurried along and found the house empty and dark. A note from mom let him know that she would be late for dinner but to eat without her if he was hungry. 

  
Steve climbed the stairs to his room and found last year’s yearbook on his bookshelf. Flipping it open, he thumbed through the pages until he came across a photo of Barnes perched on a bench, wearing sunglasses with his mouth open wide in a laugh. A crowd of kids were around him and Steve studied their faces. Was the crush one of them? And, if so, who?


	4. Chapter 4

A jittery feeling bubbled in Steve’s stomach throughout the next day. Although he won art awards and his work was praised by the teacher, no one had ever  _ really  _ noticed his talents. And if Steve had to be honest, he didn’t think Barnes of all people would be the one who did. 

Barnes was popular enough, not on the level of Tony Stark per se but definitely higher on the social ladder than Steve was. He was a history buff and consistently scored top marks on the AP tests in addition to being the Track & Field’s shot put star. 

Steve didn’t understand why a solid knot had formed in his chest after Nat told him about Barnes. He pretended to focus on the  _ Frankenstein  _ discussion in English class as he worked to dissect his feelings. He stole glances across the room at Barnes but the other boy never turned back to him. His long hair was pulled up in a messy bun (Steve was pretty sure it was the kind that Natasha called a “topknot”). He examined Barnes’ profile, the crisp line of his jaw, the gentle slope of his neck and shoulders. Almost instinctively, Steve picked up his pencil and began a rough sketch in the corner of his paper.

The knot in his chest slowly began to unwind as he sketched. Steve felt the most centred whenever he did anything artistic- although pottery was the one thing he never could quite the hang of- and had a natural talent for realistic portraits. 

“While I’m sure MoMA will be more than excited to display your art someday, Mr. Rogers, right now you are in English class and I need you to pay attention.”

Steve’s head snapped up and he came face-to-face with Miss Hill. The young teacher watched him closely as he set down his pencil and spread his hands over his paper.

“I’m sorry, I just-” Steve started.

Miss Hill shook her head. “Now Steve, as we were discussing, what is the significance of Nature in  _ Frankenstein _ ?”

“Well, um, Mary Shelley was part of the, um, Romantic movement, which put a strong emphasis on the natural elements and..” Steve struggled to organize his thoughts. The class was deathly quiet. He could feel his face turning bright red.

Miss Hill clicked her tongue disapprovingly and moved on as another student raised their hand to answer. Steve risked a glance around the classroom. Small, private conversations had started up again. Everyone was immediately disinterested in him now that he was no longer in the spotlight. 

Everyone, that was, except for Barnes. He looked away as soon as Steve met his eyes but it didn’t matter. The knot had already reformed in Steve’s chest.

Once the bell rang, Barnes was the first out of the classroom. Steve packed up his bag and squeezed his way through the crowd around the door and into the hallway. Suddenly, a hand grabbed his. 

Steve’s stomach did a funny lurch as he turned and nearly smacked heads with Barnes. He dropped Steve’s hand at once and offered what Steve supposed was a reassuring smile.

“Hi, Steve,” Barnes said. “Has Natasha talked to you?”

Steve nodded. His mouth felt very dry and he couldn’t remember how to form words. He had never, ever stood  _ this  _ close to Barnes. He couldn’t help but notice the musky aftershave that smelled like a mix of cedar and cinnamon that the other boy wore. A light dusting of stubble covered Barnes’ cheeks and Steve imagined it would scratch someone’s face if Barnes’ hugged them.

“It doesn’t have to be a very elaborate, you know,” Barnes continued. “I just… want it to be nice and well, you’re the best.”

“Sure,” Steve replied. His mouth felt like it was fighting him to speak. “Who is it for, though? I could make it more personal if I knew who it was for.”

“Uh, yeah,” Barnes said. “I want to keep that a secret. I can’t risk the surprise getting out. So how about we just meet up some time and I could help you with it? Since I know what they like?”

“Sure,” Steve repeated. 

“Could we meet this afternoon?” Barnes asked.

“Sure.”

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

“No,” Steve said. “No wait, it’s not that I  _ don’t _ talk much. I just don’t really know what to say. But sometimes I ramble, which my mom says is a nervous thing…”

“It’s okay,” Barnes told him. “You can keep talking. You have a nice voice, you know. Like the kind of voice that should narrate audiobooks.”

“Oh.” Steve laughed. “Um, I actually have to get to my next class. And art is all the way on the third floor. You know the room with the-”

“Big, bright windows,” Barnes finished the sentence with him.

“You’ve been in there?” Steve said. “Oh, well I mean, of course you have. I didn’t mean like  _ that. _ ”

Now Barnes laughed. “I had to scope out the potential talent. So yeah, I’ve been in there.”

The warning bell rang. One minute to get to class.

“I should go,” Steve said.

“Yeah, yeah. Me too. I’ll see you in gym?”

“Sure.” Steve nodded and headed down the hall. He felt Barnes watching him as he walked away. Steve gripped the straps of his backpack as the late bell rang and he began to sprint up the stairs. 

_ Damn him,  _ Steve thought as he slid onto his stool in the art room. 

_ Should I have asked him to pay me? _

_ Also, why am I shaking?  _

_ Barnes doesn’t make me nervous.  _

_ Does he? _


	5. Chapter 5

Steve broke two sticks of charcoal in art class. His hands were shaking too badly to draw a straight line. As he was changing for gym, he distractedly put his shoes on the wrong feet. 

Entering the gym, he saw Barnes leaning against the far wall. Steve waved to him and Barnes returned the gesture. 

“So what’s it like?” Steve asked as he approached Barnes. “Being in the higher level class, I mean. It must be nice to not get beaten by freshmen in dodgeball.”

Barnes laughed. “I mean, sure, that part’s nice. But do you  _ know  _ what a sweaty Brock Rumlow smells like? Let me tell you: completely  _ awful _ .”

“I think Rumlow himself is just awful. So much so that it just oozes out of him,” Steve replied. His palms felt electric. It felt…  _ nice _ to talk to Barnes but he didn’t want to to talk about Brock Rumlow.

“Y’know, you’re probably right, Steve,” Barnes said.

Steve felt his heart jump a little. “Yeah, well, I should, um, probably get back over there…”

“Or, we could get outta here,” Barnes offered.

“Like, skip class?” Steve replied. “I can’t really do that. If I screw up this gym credit, then I can’t graduate. Trust me, I’d love to leave but I can’t.”

“Suit yourself,” Barnes shrugged. “By the way, unrelated question, what is your favorite milkshake flavor?”

“Chocolate,” Steve answered automatically. “Why?”

“No reason.” Barnes gave him a playful shove. “Now go run your laps, Rogers.”

Steve smiled as he ran laps around the gym’s basketball court, barely registering the people around him. He could hear the heavy music blaring from the weight room and he could see Barnes bench pressing each time he passed the door. One time around, Steve noticed that Barnes had stripped off his usual white tank top and now wore only his swishy gym shorts. 

To his credit, Steve managed to not jog directly into a wall.

_ What’s wrong with me? _ Steve wondered.  _ I’ve barely spoken to the guy in all of high school and just because we start chatting today, I’m all- _

Suddenly, Steve stopped. He coughed, once, twice, and then uncontrollably. His chest felt like it was trying to cave in. He wheezed and gasped.

“Rogers!” Coach Fury yelled. He started to run over. “Rogers!” He stopped. “I’m going to get the emergency inhaler from my office. Stay right there! Someone stay with him!”

There’s was a loud thudding behind Steve and a hand pressed firmly against his back to keep him upright as his coughed and struggled to breathe. He reached out for whoever was there and a hand clasped both of his. There was a scent, faintly camouflaged by sweat, of cedar…

“Here,” a voice said.

An inhaler was pressed toward him. Steve fumbled with the object. The person released his hands and took the inhaler from him. 

“Let me help you.” Steve recognized the voice now. It was Barnes.

When the chaos in Steve’s chest calmed down, he sat on the floor, taking in deep breaths. He could tell by the way Fury was looking down at him that he was paler than usual. 

“You need to go home, Rogers,” Fury said. 

“No, coach, my grades… I’ve got to be here for the rest of gym,” Steve protested. 

Fury shook his head. “No way. That’s far less important than your health. Go home.”

“I’ll walk him to the office, sir,” Barnes offered. He had stayed beside Steve, one arm wrapped protectively around the smaller boy’s shoulders. 

Fury nodded his approval. “Alright. Make sure he gets home and then be right back here.”

Barnes pulled Steve to his feet and gathered Steve’s bags. “Come on. Let’s go.”

The hallway was cold and Steve shivered. 

“I’d offer you my jacket, but um,” Barnes started.

Steve glanced up at him and laughed. “Even if you had one, I’d say you need it more than I do. How did Fury not realize you don’t have a shirt on?”

Barnes shrugged. “I mean, if it offends you then I’ll just go back and get it and leave you by yourself, which I’m pretty sure goes against what Coach Fury told me to do.”

“No, it’s fine-” Steve hesitated. “Besides, I don’t think it would help with how gross you smell.”

“Excuse me?” Barnes’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Yeah, I think you’re giving me another asthma attack,” Steve snarked. 

Barnes bumped his hip against Steve’s, making him stumble, but he was smiling. “You’re a punk.”

He held open the office door for Steve and politely greeted the secretary. “Steve Rogers needs to go home, ma’am. Coach’s orders.”

“Can someone come pick you up?” the secretary asked Steve.

“No. I usually walk home,” Steve answered.

“Alright, the Resource Officer can take you.” She turned to Barnes. “You can go back to class now, young man. And next time, keep in mind that our dress code requires that  _ everyone  _ wear a shirt.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Barnes said solemnly. As he left, he glanced back at Steve. “I’ll check on you later today, okay? What’s your number?”

Steve scribbled it quickly on a sticky note and handed it over. The door swung shut and Barnes jogged down the hallway.

The ride home with the Resource Officer was awkward at best. Officer Coulson was a nice enough guy- and Steve certainly owed a lot to him after the number of fights he saved Steve from- but Coulson had seen him with Barnes and the questions simply wouldn’t stop.

“I’m just so glad to see you making friends,” Officer Coulson was saying as he pulled the car to a stop in front of Steve’s house.

“Thanks, Mr. Coulson, and also thanks for the ride home,” Steve replied as he pushed open the door. “I should get inside and get a nap. I’m exhausted.”

“Oh, right,” Officer Coulson said. “Well, just phone up to the school if you need anything. Will your mom be home soon?”

“Yep,” Steve lied and slammed the door. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Coulson,” he called as he hurried up the front steps to the house. 

Steve watched through the living room window as the car peeled away. Once it was out of sight, he dropped onto the couch and sighed. His chest still ached. He rested a few minutes before making himself get up and take a hot shower. He changed into sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt before resuming his place on the couch. He set his phone on the coffee table and… waited.

He didn’t really know what to do. He didn’t particularly feel like working on any assignments- the next section of  _ Frankenstein _ wasn’t due until next week anyways- but he was too wound up to sleep. 

Barnes had come to his rescue. Okay, Steve realized that made him sound like some damsel in distress, but the immediacy with which Barnes was by his side, well, it was touching. 

“Shit,” Steve muttered aloud. “Shit, shit, shit. No way.”

He did  _ not  _ want to go through this again. He had crushed on Tony Stark when the two were paired up for a science project in Biology only to find out that Stark was dating Pepper Potts. When the two broke up, Steve considered admitting his feelings. By the time he worked up the courage to say anything, Tony had already moved on and was dating fellow super-genius Bruce Banner. Steve had felt utterly foolish. 

His phone chirped on the coffee table. He reached for it lazily and saw a number he didn’t recognize. The message, however, reassured him immediately.

_ Hey, it’s Barnes. Er, I mean James. Or whatever. How are you? _

Steve typed back rapidly.  _ Alright. Resting at home. _

The response was nearly instantaneous.  _ What’s your address? If you don’t mind? I figured I could drop off the Chem work you missed. _

Steve answered. He drummed his fingers against his thigh as he waited for a reply.

_ Thanks. I’ll be by in about 30 mins. See you soon. _

Did he answer back? Or was the conversation over? Was Barnes expecting a reply? Nervously, Steve typed out  _ See you soon _ and pressed send before he could change his mind.

And he… waited. 


	6. Chapter 6

Steve’s cat, Bab, sat on top of the living room bookshelf. Her tail swished noiselessly and she watched the door almost as intensely as Steve. 

Steve's mom had gotten the Blue Russian cat after Steve's dad had died. She came home one evening with the tiny kitten tucked in the crook of her arm. The kitten’s fur was matted and she meowed pitifully. 

“Found her in the gutter,” Steve’s mom had said. “I couldn’t possibly have left her.”

Bab had adapted to life in the Rogers’ house quickly, due in no small part to that fact that she was doted on constantly. Steve reached out to Bab now and made kissing noises at her. The cat leapt from the top of the bookshelf directly onto to the sofa next to Steve and curled up against him. 

The warmth of Bab and the overall exhaustion from the day made Steve want to sleep, but his nerves were far too jittery to allow him to close his eyes. 

_ Should I have tidied the house? Dusted the coffee table? _

_ Barnes is coming here, after all.  _

_ Should I refer to him as James now? _

_ Does it really matter? _

Steve shifted on the sofa and picked up the newspaper from the coffee table. He wasn’t interested in the stories- his eyes moved uncomprehendingly over the words- but he needed to have something to do. Otherwise, he felt he would burst open with anxiety. 

His heart slammed around in his chest when he heard a knock on the door. Bab meowed and flicked her tail against his arm, as if to say  _ get up and answer the door, lovebird. _

Steve set the paper aside and wiped his shaky hands against his shirt. He peered through the small window on the door and saw Barnes standing on the porch. His long hair hung loose around his chin now and he held a milkshake in each hand. Steve unlocked and opened the door, stepping to the side to allow Barnes in. 

“What’s up, Steve-o?” Barnes asked.

“Um, Steve-o?” Steve replied.

“I’m sorry, is that nickname no good?” Barnes said. “I’ll come up with a different one. Or just stop trying altogether.”

“No, it’s, uh, fine. It’s perfect,” Steve replied.

Barnes held out one of the milkshakes. “Well, here you go. Chocolate with fudge swirled in. Figured you deserved it after today.”

Steve took the drink and twirled the straw. “Thanks. How much do I owe you?”

Barnes cocked his head to the side and gave him a ridiculous look. “No, Steve-o. You don’t owe me anything. It’s my treat.”

Steve shrugged and took a sip from the milkshake. “Fine.”

“So,” Bucky said.

“So, we should probably get started on that Winter Formal project,” Steve interjected quickly.

“Oh, right,” Bucky replied.

Bab meowed and stood up on the sofa, indignant at being ignored.

Barnes smiled softly. “Who is this cutie?” he cooed as he held out his hand for Bab to sniff.

“That’s Bab,” Steve said. “Short for Baby. Except she’s more of a senior citizen these days.”

“Aw, no,” Barnes continued, his voice light and airy. “No, you’re not an old lady at all. You don’t look a day over two. No, you’re a cutie, aren’t you?”

Steve held back a laugh and focused on drinking his milkshake. It was hard not to giggle at the sight of Barnes falling all over the cat, showering her in head scratches and compliments.

“Uh, James,” Steve said. “Shouldn’t we-”

Barnes stopped and turned back at him. “Please don’t be one of the people who call me James.”

“Oh,” Steve hesitated. “I’m sorry. It’s just that...when you texted me, you introduced yourself as…”

“I know,” Barnes said. “It was a momentary lapse in judgement. Everyone calls me James and I kind of hate it. It’s James or Barnes, and usually I prefer Barnes, but…”

Steve waited for him to continue, then asked. “But what?”

“But neither of those feel right with you, I guess,” Barnes said. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“What should I call you then?” Steve asked. “Should I just say  _ hey you _ any time I need your attention?”

Barnes chuckled. “Well, my middle name's Buchanan, so I’m sure you can figure something out.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve said. “Sounds very regal. Maybe I’ll just call you  _ your majesty _ .”

“As amusing as that may be,” Barnes replied, “perhaps choose something that won’t get me weird stares in the hallway.”

“Whatever you say, your majesty,” Steve smiled. 

His milkshake was nearly gone, and having the cup to hide about half his face had given him a small sense of bravery to attempt to flirt with Barnes. Was this flirting? Steve certainly was trying, but did Barnes see that? Or did he just assume Steve was being nice and joking around?

_ I need to step back. Barnes is interested in someone, and that someone isn’t me, otherwise he wouldn’t be asking for my help to ask someone to the Formal. I need to focus. If I keep doing this, I’m just going to get hurt when he feels like he needs to tell me to back off.  _

“Like I said, we should get to work,” Steve said. 

“Yeah, absolutely,” Barnes agree. “Where should we set up our project?”

“Well, all of my art supplies are in my room, but I could bring them down here to the kitchen,” Steve offered. 

“That’s unnecessary. We can just go up there,” Barnes said. Then he raised an eyebrow, elbowed Steve, and added, “Unless you don’t want me in your room for any reason, Steve-o.”

“No, that’s not- I- uh,” Steve stammered. 

“Okay, so let’s go. Lead the way,” Barnes said.

Steve nodded and headed up the stairs. His face began to burn with blush and he hoped he hadn’t left anything embarrassing- a dirty pair of boxers, a random baby photo- out in his room. To his relief, his room was it’s usual controlled mess, but there was nothing to be horrifyingly embarrassed over. 

Steve carried his easel from the corner to the middle of the room and balanced his open art kit on a stool. He found a thin, wide canvas in the stack balanced against his desk and set it up on the easel. 

As he sharpened a pencil, Steve asked, “So, Buchanan...no, Buck, yeah. So, Bucky, what does your mysterious crush like? How would you like to ask her to the Formal?”

Bucky smiled. “I like that name. And as for what  _ he  _ likes, well, as I said he’s a fan of watercolor paintings."

“Oh,” Steve said. “Okay, so do you want to ask him with a joke or hide the message within the painting? And what, exactly, should I paint?”

_ This is going to be Tony Stark all over again _ .

“I think he likes jokes. Like a pun. Can we work a pun in there somehow?” Bucky asked.

“Okay,” Steve nodded. “Let’s think.”

“It’d be very  _ ice  _ to go to Winter Formal with you?” Bucky suggested. 

“That’s terrible,” Steve laughed. “I’d be  _ snow _ happy to take you to Winter Formal?”

Bucky nearly shot milkshake from his nose as he laughed. “No, wait- aw, no I forgot it!”

Steve smiled and the two tossed puns back and forth. They sat on Steve’s floor, laughing, their bodies leaning dangerously close together at points. Steve tried to restrain himself, but it felt like a magnet was pulling him towards Bucky. He let himself lean in. He wanted to at least have a moment of closeness, even if it was temporary, even if it was almost self-torturing to do so. 

The light outside the windows faded. Steve risked a glance at his watch and knew his mom would be home within forty-five minutes and he had promised to make dinner. 

“Bucky, I’m sorry, I really need to take care of some stuff,” Steve said reluctantly. “My mom’s going to be home soon and tonight is my turn to make dinner.”

“I don’t mind to help,” Bucky offered. “Besides, I’d love to meet your mom! Heck, she’s got to be cool if she raised you!”

Steve managed a smile. “If you’re sure…”

_ I’m doomed.  _


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SO SO SORRY that I haven't updated this story in so long. Life got really really busy for me for a while and I barely had time to do any sort of creative work. Thank you to everyone for supporting this story and continuing to read it. Your comments mean everything to me! Thank you thank you thank you :-)

Steve and his mom didn’t have a lot. They were able to take care of themselves, certainly, but their house was nothing extravagant and most of their meals were frozen and prepackaged.

“Absolutely no way,” Bucky said. “If your mom is going to meet me, I’m not going to just serve her a freezer meal.”

“That’s nice and all, Buck, but we haven’t really been to the store in a while so freezer stuff is really all we have to work with,” Steve replied as he rummaged through the fridge.

Bucky huffed, turned away, and yanked open a cabinet. “Do you have any pasta?”

“Uh, probably?” Steve answered absently as he pondered the merits of reheating some fried chicken.

“Sauce?” Bucky replied.

“What?” Steve said finally taking his head from the freezer. “Bucky, what are you on about?”

But Bucky had already found what he wanted: a box of spaghetti noodles, a jar of sauce, and a garlic clove plucked from the strand that Steve’s mom kept draped over the kitchen window.

“Pasta,” Bucky answered. “Now get me a pot and pan, Stevie.”

Steve quickly ducked down behind a cabinet door to hide the bright blush that spread rapidly over his cheeks and neck. “Uh… Stevie? What happened to Steve-o?”

“I’m just test-driving different options,” Bucky said. “Do you hate it?”

“I… uh… it’s…” Steve fumbled with his words and the cookware, knocking a pile of pans onto the floor. He scrambled to clean them up. Bucky quickly knelt to help and they promptly knocked heads.

“Yikes,” Bucky grunted. “That’s one hard head you have, Rogers.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” Steve rambled. “Do you need an ice pack? Or an aspirin?”

Bucky rubbed his forehead. “I’ll be fine. Are you okay?”

Truthfully, Steve could already feel the knot forming that would be on his head tomorrow but he nodded anyways.

“Good,” Bucky said. “I’d hate to have caused another head injury to you.”

And then Steve remembered the dodgeball, the hard smack of the rubber against the side of his face, his embarrassment as he fell, the laughter of the other boys in the locker room.

“Hey, earth to Steve,” Bucky said, leaning close to Steve’s face.

Too close, so close that Steve could see the perfect arch of Bucky’s cupid’s bow. So close that there were mere inches between their noses. Steve struggled to speak past the lump in his throat. Bucky’s eyebrows crinkled together in concern.

“Why did you do it?” Steve asked quietly.

Bucky hesitated.

“You know,” Steve said. “Hit me with the dodgeball. Why did you do it?”

“I didn’t really mean to,” Bucky answered.

“Bullshit,” Steve said. “I _saw_ you. You were looking at me. You _winked_ at me.”

“I didn’t mean it to be mean,” Bucky said. “One of the dodgeballs rolled into the weight room. I picked it up to toss it back out and… I saw you standing towards the middle… you were in the thick of it all, you know… and I don’t know…”

“What, was it just that I was an easy target? A way to have fun and look tough?” Steve snapped. He didn’t know why he suddenly felt so angry about it all. Bucky had been perfectly nice to him, bringing over a milkshake and offering to help with dinner and helping him through an asthma attack.

“No, Stevie, not that at all,” Bucky said. His face began to crumple and his eyes widened with a frantic need to make Steve understand _something_.

Steve felt his insides soften. He shook his head and tried to turn his mouth up in a comforting smile. “It’s okay, Buck. It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to explain anything.”

He started to stand to fill the pot with water and boil the noodles but Bucky grabbed his arm.

“Steve, I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay, Buck,” Steve answered. “We should probably get to work on dinner now.”

Bucky nodded but Steve could tell that there was more he wanted to say.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry again for the long time between updates. Life has been very overwhelming lately and I had to step back from some fun projects to take care of more pressing things. Thank you all for staying by this story!! I appreciate each and every one of you!! :-)

By the time dinner was ready, Steve’s mother was ten minutes late. Steve checked the clock again and peered out the window. 

“She’s never late,” Steve said.

“I’m sure it’s just traffic,” Bucky replied.

Just then, the phone rang. Steve snatched up the landline. “Hello?”

“Hey, Steve, sweetie,” Sarah Rogers said from the other end of the line.

“Ma!” Steve exclaimed. “Where are you?”

“I’m still at the restaurant. They need me for third shift. I’m so sorry, but I won’t be home for dinner. I hope you didn’t fix too much,” Sarah said. 

Steve glanced back at the kitchen, where the spaghetti was ready with minced garlic and a thick sauce with a side of defrosted rolls covered in butter. 

“Um, it’s fine, Ma. When will you be back?” Steve asked.

“Not sure. If it slows down, I could be home before the third shift is over but we close up at 10. So I won’t be later than midnight after I clean up my areas,” Sarah said. 

“Okay,” Steve said. “Well, I hope it all goes well. I’ll see you later then.”

“I love you, sweetie,” Sarah said.

“I love you too, Ma,” Steve replied and hung up. 

“Is she on her way?” Bucky asked as Steve turned back to him.

“No, she… uh, she has to work third shift now too. So she won’t be home for dinner,” Steve said, his tone melancholic. 

“Oh," was all Bucky could respond with.

Steve shrugged and began putting away the third dinner placing that had been meant for his mother. “It’s fine. You can go on home, Bucky. Thanks for the help.”

“I’m not just going to leave you, Stevie,” Bucky answered.

The muscles in Steve’s arms froze as he reached for the cabinet door. He was immensely grateful that his back was to Bucky so that the other boy couldn’t see the bright red blossoms spreading across his cheeks. Steve felt the heat rise to his ears and hoped the blush wasn’t visible on their tips. Slowly, he placed the plate in the cabinet, afraid that moving too quickly would reveal the slight shake spreading from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. His body felt downright  _ electric _ and his spine tingled with the feeling.

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve said simply.

“Come back over here,” Bucky coaxed. “Let’s eat.”

Steve knew his blush hadn’t faded but he steeled himself and turned anyways. He took his seat at the four-person dining table. Bucky sat at the head of the table, Steve to his left. Bucky dished out servings of spaghetti noodles and spoonfuls of sauce. Steve passed him the small wicker basket of bread. His mom had used it for serving bread for as long as Steve could remember, and apparently his grandmother had as well. The age showed on the basket, tiny splinters of wicker sticking out from the weaving.

Bucky dug into the food, twirling the noodles swiftly around his fork. Steve watched his deft fingers work from the corner of his eye and tried to focus on scooping up his pasta as gracefully as possible. He had never really mastered the fork-twirling skill.

“Oh, Stevie,” Bucky sighed, catching sight of Steve’s less graceful methods. 

“It’s a well known fact that I am terrible at anything involving even the slightest bit of coordination,” Steve retorted a little more sharply than he meant to.

“I’m not teasing,” Bucky soothed. “Here, just let me help.”

“Help? How-” Steve started, but Bucky’s fingers were wrapped around his wrist. His grip was strong but tender and Steve’s stomach bunched up at the feeling.

“First of all, you’re holding the fork at the wrong angle. Shift this way,” Bucky instructed as he gently adjusted the way Steve’s hand was tilted. 

“Okay,” Steve said.

“Now, you need to hook one of the noodles between the tines of the fork and twirl at a slightly faster speed,” Bucky continued, guiding Steve’s hand to catch one of the noodles and spin the fork. It worked: the noodle hooked around the tines and pulled another clump of pasta along with it.

“Ta-da!” Bucky announced, taking his hand from Steve’s. 

Steve quickly stuffed the forkful of spaghetti into his mouth, trying to squelch the disappointment that arose as Bucky’s hand left his. 

Bab paced around their ankles as they ate, mewing softly for attention. Bucky offered scratches along the top of her head and behind her ears. She purred louder than Steve had ever heard her do so before and pressed her side up against Bucky’s calf.

“Looks like somebody likes you,” Steve observed.  
Bucky, looking down at Bab, offered Steve a sweet half smile. There was a friendly gleam in his eyes. “Yeah, hopefully.”


	9. Chapter 9

The next few days passed in a blissful blur for Steve. He felt simultaneously hyper-aware of everything and also as though he floated in a dream. 

Bucky took to sitting with him and Clint at lunch. Steve never heard the end of it from Clint. 

“So, have you made your move?” he teased good-naturedly as they cleaned up from gym one day.

“Keep your voice down,” Steve hissed, his eyes glancing about anxiously. “He doesn’t know how I feel and he’s not going to know. You understand, Clint? He likes somebody else and…” Steve swallowed past the lump in his throat. “And I don’t want to mess anything up for him, you know? What if I just confuse his feelings? I know how presumptuous that sounds, that he would even like me back, but what if he felt guilty, as if he’s led me on?”

Clint’s eyes darkened. “I’m sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean…”

“I know you didn’t.” Steve shrugged on his shirt. “But it is what it is.”

He had a hard time meeting Bucky’s eyes at lunch that day. He felt irrationally like he had done something wrong, but he didn’t get to decide his feelings. It wasn’t as though he could turn this crush off like a switch. Oh, if only. 

“Steve? Hey, Stevie, anybody home?”

Steve’s chest jumped as his eyes focused on Bucky’s face. “Um, yeah?”

“I was asking if we were still on to hang out this afternoon? So I can see the progress on the painting?” Bucky said.

“Oh, um, of course,” Steve answered. 

Clint raised an eyebrow at Steve and mouthed “ _ make your move _ ” when Bucky turned away. Steve stuck out his tongue and rolled his eyes. 

The bell rang, ordering them away to class. Steve said farewell to Clint and went with Bucky to Chemistry. 

“Mind if I partner with you?” Bucky asked. 

“I suppose not,” Steve said as Bucky joined him at his lab table. 

They began setting up their lab kit. Steve’s mind wandered to his canvas at home with the soft blue gradient background he had finished just last night. He absolutely loved it so far; never before had he managed such a gentle blend of colors. Steve had always taken care in his work, but something about creating for someone else put extra care into his brushstrokes. 

He measured out the water they needed for making borax snowflakes while Bucky shaped their pipe cleaners together to form the snowflake frame. 

“Hey, Stevie, look!” Bucky beamed. He had bent two arms of the snowflake frame together into a heart shape, albeit a somewhat lopsided one. 

Steve laughed softly. “Very cute, Buck.”

“I’m going to keep it in the frame,” Bucky said. “I think it’ll make ours far more interesting than everyone else’s.” 

Steve felt the traitorous blush begin to creep up the back of his neck and across his cheeks. 

_ Damn, will there ever be a moment that Bucky doesn’t make my heart flutter? _

_ Keep it together, Rogers, come on. _

“Sure will, Bucky,” he managed to say. 

Bucky smirked and attached the string to the snowflake frame. “You love it and you know it.”

Steve smiled, felt his heart jump and jitter in his chest. “Yeah, I do.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: bullying; implied homophobia
> 
> Rumlow makes a reappearance and he knows about Bucky's nickname for Steve. 
> 
> I promise the next chapter will be so super fluffy to make up for this and I also promise that Brock Rumlow is absolutely going to get what's coming to him; just stick with me and I promise it will be all be okay. 
> 
> Also, the next few chapters are going to feature some REVELATIONS ABOUT FEELINGS and NICE SOFT CUDDLES and STEVE ROGERS HAVING NICE THINGS HAPPEN LIKE HE DESERVES TO.

Brock Rumlow seemed to be biding his time. Steve was grateful for the brief reprieve he had been given ever since Clint knocked Rumlow on his ass, but he knew it would inevitably end. He had just hoped it wouldn’t be so soon.

“Where’s your little friend, Rogers?” Rumlow barked. He took a long drag on his cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke up into the air. “Well? Did Barton tuck tail and leave your disastrous orbit?”

“I’m surprised you know the words  _ disastrous _ or  _ orbit _ , Rumlow. Glad to see you’ve been paying attention in your classes,” Steve quipped. 

Brock snarled and flicked his cigarette down onto the sidewalk, grinding it under the toe of his boot. “Well, well, well. You’ve gotten a little bold with me, Rogers. I’m almost impressed enough to leave you alone, but only almost.”

His fist caught Steve in the nose, snapping his head back. Steve landed on his back with a grunt, felt the air whoosh from his lungs, and immediately clasped a hand over his nose. Slick, hot blood ran over his lips and fingers. With a groan, he pushed himself upright and locked eyes with Rumlow.

“Are we done now, Brock? I’m just trying to go home,” Steve said. 

“We’re done when I say we’re done,  _ Stevie _ ,” Brock snickered. 

Steve choked on his words.  _ Stevie _ . Oh god, what did Brock know? Or, rather, what did he  _ think  _ he knew? Brock’s eyes lit up at the sight of Steve’s face. The fear on his face must’ve been as clear as the sky overhead. 

“Yeah, you think no one’s overheard Barnes’s little pet name for you? You think no one’s noticed how you look at him? You really are pathetic, Rogers. You think Barnes  _ likes _ you or something? You, of all people?” Rumlow spat.

Each word was like a blow and Steve’s stomach muscles seized. Brock’s fist swung down again and connected with the side of Steve’s face. He fell back once more and stayed down this time.

_ Maybe he’ll go away if I just lie in the dirt _ . 

Rumlow loomed over him. His bulky frame blocked out the sun and obscured him in shadow, but Steve didn’t have to see him to know that disdain was written across his face. 

“This isn’t even fun anymore, Rogers,” Brock laughed. “Damn, you really are pathetic.”

“Go to hell,” Steve muttered. 

Brock tugged free another cigarette from his pack and lit it deftly. “I’ll see you around, Rogers.”

Steve stayed down for a moment after Brock’s shadow vanished. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes and he stumbled home, wiping blood and tears from his face as he went. It took him three attempts to unlock the front door. His hands shook too badly to aim the key at the lock and he cried harder with the frustration of it all.

He charged to the bathroom and examined his face in the mirror. An angry pink mark formed a crescent moon under his right eye. And his nose… 

It was a puffy, misaligned monstrosity on his face. Steve grimaced as he touched it softly with one finger. Was it broken? His mother would kill Brock Rumlow if she knew and there was no way he could hide this one. He could lie and say it was a gym injury, but she would wonder why she hadn’t been called.

The doorbell chimed and Steve’s eyes widened at himself in the mirror.  _ Bucky. _ Steve’s face was blotchy from crying and the tears kept coming. 

“Stevie?” Bucky called from the front steps. 

Steve wanted to vomit. He lurched from the bathroom to the front door, wondering why the hell he had left his phone in his backpack, fully planning to tell Bucky to leave. He yanked open the door and there stood James Buchanan Barnes, holding two milkshakes from Carter’s Drug Store in to-go cups. 

“I’m sorry that I’m a bit late. My little sis insisted that I owed her a milkshake this afternoon and I just can’t say no to the kid but I got you one too, so we’re good right…?” Bucky rambled but his voice trailed off as his brain registered what he saw. 

Steve tilted his head away, embarrassed and ashamed. “Maybe not today, Bucky, okay? Just go home.”

“No, Steve, I’m not leaving you like this.” Bucky insisted. “Let me come in and help you.”

The flood of tears came faster now than before and Steve stepped back. He felt so broken and he couldn’t stand it. Bucky shut the door and placed the milkshakes on the coffee table before leading Steve back to the bathroom.

“I’m going to lift you onto the counter now, okay?” Bucky said. He gripped Steve’s sides and hefted him onto the bathroom counter. Steve raised his hands back to his face but Bucky pulled them away. “I need to look at it, okay? Your nose really looks broken and I’ll need to set it. Is that okay? Will you let me do that, Stevie?”

Steve nodded, his throat constricted with tears. 

“Hold onto something. Breathe in and out through your mouth. I won’t lie, this will hurt,” Bucky instructed.

Steve reached out and gripped Bucky’s shoulder. He tried to keep his breathing steady. 

“Do you want me to warn you before I do it or would that make you too tense?” Bucky asked.

“Just do it,” Steve said. “Don’t tell me when.”

He breathed deeply and suddenly Bucky’s fingers moved lightening-quick around his nose, setting the break into place. 

“That hurt. I’m going to puke,” Steve groaned. And then he unceremoniously vomited down the front of Bucky’s shirt. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.” His voice felt thick and his head spun. 

“It’s okay, pal, it’s okay,” Bucky reassured him. “Let’s get you into bed and some ice on your face. Do you have a shirt I can borrow?”

“Nothing that’ll fit you,” Steve said, the words coming out slow and difficult. “But maybe a hoodie? I wear them big.” 

Bucky stripped off his shirt and stuffed it into the bathroom trashcan. “That’s fine with me, pal. Come on, now.”

He scooped Steve into his arms, carried him upstairs, and laid him carefully onto his bed. He retreated back downstairs and returned moments later with two ice packs and a bag of frozen peas. Bucky pressed the ice packs around Steve’s face and pointed to the closet.

“Can I get out a hoodie?” he asked. Steve nodded. Once Bucky had a hoodie, he perched on the edge of Steve’s bed, facing him and pushing Steve’s hair back from his eyes. 

After a second, he asked, “Was this Rumlow?” 

Steve nodded. Bucky’s jaw clenched and he traced a thumb across Steve’s eyebrow. “You don’t deserve this, Stevie.”

“He called me that,” Steve said softly.

“What?” Bucky asked.

“Rumlow. He called me Stevie.” Steve said. His chest tightened with anger. 

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Oh, Steve. Steve, don’t ever think that I would send Rumlow after you. I never liked him and after today I most certainly hate him.” 

His hands shook and Steve caught ahold of one impulsively, pressing it against the side of his face. “It’s okay, Bucky. I know. But I think I want to sleep now.”

Bucky nodded. “Okay, pal. I’ll be here when you wake up. If you want me too.”

“Yes,” Steve whispered as he drifted away, tired and drained and desperately wanting to close his eyes and leave today behind but also to keep them open and gaze at the face of Bucky Barnes with its slight stubble and soft smile. 


End file.
